Lucky Penny

“Find a penny, pick it up, all day long you’ll have good luck.”

We won’t be able to pick our Penny up any time soon, and yet the luck abounds. Although, to call it luck diminishes the hard work and determination of the incredibly skilled nurses and doctors at the Northwestern NICU. A well-oiled machine pales in comparison to what’s happening on the 10th floor.  Every morning a flurry of acronyms, numbers, and data cycles through the air as the medical team coordinates the daily plan for each and every little life. A choreographed dance between life and death. A hive mind that holds your progeny in their hands and asks you to trust them. And you do. Because what else can you do? Attend WebMD night school and earn your armchair PhD? These people are experts and I edit videos for a living. The best thing we can do in these first couple of crucial weeks is visit with our child and keep ourselves healthy. So we do. We read to her, we sing to her, we do what the NICU calls “hand hugs.” But we have to pace ourselves. This is a marathon and if we sprint once that shot goes off, we’ll burn out at mile three.

That’s not to say that we’re taking a passive role. The NICU staff  told us on day one that we are a team. They want us as involved as we’re comfortable being. I’m able to attend rounds every morning and I sit-in on the team’s recap of the previous day and plan for the day ahead. I can ask questions, I can make suggestions (I’m not quite there yet, but I’m learning). During a visit on day two, our nurse Jen had me take Penny’s temperature by sticking a thermometer probe under her tiny right armpit. As a dad, I had to stifle my instincts to make an itsy bitsy fart noise. These nurses and doctors know how hard this is for us and they want us to bond, to help, to have a say in the treatment of our kiddo. At at time when we feel useless, they’re helping us feel necessary.

Jenny started pumping almost immediately after the c-section. When you deliver early, you have to jumpstart your body to start producing milk earlier than expected. So we get up every three hours to collect milk and then I deliver it to the NICU. I’m the milk man. I should get six miniature milk jugs and a tiny wooden crate. They then use that milk to feed our baby. On Penny’s third day of life, our nurse Jen asked Jenny if she’d like to feed her baby. So she helped her swab Penny’s cheeks with milk Jenny had provided. A mother feeding her newborn child. Not in the way she had planned, but a small step in the right direction.

These first two weeks are the scariest. Anything can go wrong and she’s at her most fragile right now. One hour she could be completely fine, the next she could be gone. But she continues to surprise us around every corner. After fully preparing ourselves for the death of our unborn child, she surprised us by being intubated and letting us meet her. On day three, she surprised the NICU staff when her brain scan came back with no signs of blood, something they expect because of how tiny the ventricles are in the still-growing brain of babies her age. She surprises us every day just by being there when we walk through the NICU doors and letting us have another moment with her.  She’s our lucky Penny. But lucky for us, she’s not alone in her fight. She’s got us, her doctors, her nurses, and all of you. Rooting for her, praying for her, sending her your love and your energy. And for that, we are eternally grateful. With a lot of hard work, and a little bit of luck, we may get to pick our Penny up yet.